Polonius
by Ecclesiastical Pincushion
Summary: Picard learns the truth about the Borg. Truth that must be protected at all cost.


Shore leave. The French Riviera. Captain Jean Luc Picard sat, a little uneasily, at the dining room table in his home, stared at the view out of the window and spoke into a console in front of him. "Encrypted personal log, stardate... Earthdate; 30th. June 2370. The events that I fear are about to unfold will never be recorded in any Starfleet database but nevertheless I feel that it's important that they're related somewhere. In the event of my death someone should know what's transpired. The Starship Enterprise is currently in dry-dock for routine maintenance and the crew and I are enjoying a rare and much needed shore leave. Which in my case seems to have been dampened somewhat by an encrypted communication from my good friend Admiral Norman Powell. Norman and I have been the best of friends since our university days in England. Two youthful and naive foreigners, he from America and me from France, plunged into the world of high education, high ambition and even higher celebration. We were... the next generation and everything was possible. Subsequent experiences have led me to suspect that that's true, but not in the way I'd imagined. Oh yes... that communication. It simply said Polonius. A prearranged distress signal the two of us agreed to use only in the most dire of circumstances. One that I've never used or heard before, but I suppose I've always known this day would come and dreaded it somewhat. Tomorrow at twelve hundred hours I intend to meet Norman, we both know where."

The centrepiece of the village near where Captain Picard made his home on the French coast is a most bizarrely situated and aesthetically stunning eighteenth century cathedral. It has survived three of the most brutal world wars in galactic history and the rise, fall and rise again of Catholicism. Now it played host to an uncharacteristically nervous Jean Luc Picard, seated on an uncomfortable wooden pew in a dark corner, staring at the magnificently decorated ceiling. His thoughts in an altogether different place and time. The appearance of a familiar voice from behind and to one side of him did not illicit even the slightest detectable movement from Picard's highly trained physical form. "Worship, what a wonderful thing. The certainty of creation and the sure and certain hope of a reward after this life." Powell's voice was cold, yet confident. Picard ignored the philosophy. 

"Do you need the Enterprise...? unofficially, of course?" Sensing that Picard was all business, Powell was the same. 

"Jean Luc if you've ever valued our friendship, you'll do what I ask." A chill descended over Picard. What price friendship? His career? His life? 

Without the need to be prompted, Powell continued. "Remember when we partied with those Klingons on the night of your twenty fourth birthday, Jean Luc?" 

Picard replied almost automatically. "Of course not, if you remember it you..." 

"weren't really there." Powell provided the end of the sentence. They both smiled a smile of recognition and familiarity.

Powell handed Picard a transparent crystal rod, four centimetres long and one centimetre in diameter. "Everything you need is there." 

Picard was at the same time perplexed and fascinated. "What is this?" "The perfect medium for communication, no-one has the hardware to read it," Powell replied, somewhat puzzlingly. 

"No-one, indeed. Including me," Picard came back. 

"Oh, you do. It's name is Mr Data," were the last words Picard heard Powell say as he beamed away.

Without betraying even the slightest indication that anything was abnormal Picard returned to the Starship Enterprise 'D' on the morning of the resumption of his tour of duty. The majority of the crew also ended their shore leave that day. The first to greet Picard was first officer Commander William Riker. 

"Welcome back, Sir. I hope you had an enjoyable leave." 

"Quite unique, Number One," was Picard's ironic reply, "and you?" 

"Deanna gave me a guided tour of Betazed's beauty spots." 

Picard's thoughts were already light-years away. "Is Data here yet?" 

"Should be arriving in about an hour." Was Riker's reply. 

"Send him to see me, immediately he gets here," Picard barked as he headed toward his ready room. 

_____________________________________________

With the tool he kept in his desk Picard opened the back of Data's head and was surprised at how easily the crystal rod interfaced with Data's neural network. A hologram of Admiral Powell appeared in front of them. 

It spoke. "Hello, Jean Luc. I trust you have the good sense to be alone. I'm going to ask you to fulfill a task, you are by no means compelled to comply, but please understand the request comes not only from me but from the very highest level of Starfleet Command. You'll see a verification code. A heavily damaged Borg cube is, at this moment, drifting in an area of neutral space, five days travel from your current location. The exact co-ordinates, you will see in front of you. You are ord... requested to destroy this Borg cube before it comes within communication range of other Borg vessels. No identifiable traces are to be left of the Borg ship and most importantly _no-one_ except yourself is to know the true nature of your mission. As a cover I have arranged for you to travel to the Romulan border where you will collect a Romulan dignitary and take her to Deep Space Nine for diplomatic talks. Jean Luc, if I don't hear from you to the contrary I will assume you have accepted my request. Good luck, old friend." 

If there was anyone, at all, that Jean Luc Picard would trust with his life it was his good friend Admiral Norman Powell. Never in all his time as a Starfleet Captain had Picard embarked so unquestioningly on such an ill-informed mission. But, paradoxically, never was there less doubt that he would comply. Such was Picard's unwavering bond of friendship with Powell and loyalty to their employer. Data was the obvious choice as confidant. His discretion did not have to be relied on or fretted over, it was engineered in.

For five days the Enterprise continued on it's stated mission of heading towards the Romulan border. With a heavy heart Picard sat in his ready room and speculated secretly about his fate. The com system burst into life, it was Riker's voice. "Captain, there's something you should see. Dead ahead." Picard hurriedly entered the bridge and saw, on the view screen, the inevitable. A heavily damaged Borg cube. 

Geordie spun around in his seat and faced Picard. "It's weapons and propulsion systems are offline. Life support is functioning. Seven thousand life signs. What are your orders, Captain?" Seven thousand life signs. Picard would not let a moment's doubt creep into his resolve. 

"Arm two photon torpedos," he barked at Commander Worf. Worf complied. Riker bravely interjected. "Sir, their weapons and propulsion are not functioning. They're not a threat." 

Geordie began to add, "if we..." Picard shouted angrily in Worf's direction. 

"This is not a democracy! Fire both torpedoes!" 

"Captain...?" Worf began to answer back in desperation. Picard shouted at anyone within listening distance. 

"If anyone else wants to question my orders, they can spend the rest of this mission in the brig. Now fire both torpedos!" In an instant the Borg cube was destroyed. Barely recognisable fragments remained. With his eyes in another place, entirely and his mind in a third location Picard drifted a final order across the room to Geordie before retiring once more to his ready room. "Collect all significant fragments and store them in the cargo bays."

Had it been anyone else Picard would have refused them entry to his office, but the 'knock' at the door came from Mr. Data. Despite lacking the human qualities he had always longed for, Data had a talent for probing people that few humanoids could match. 

"Captain, something disturbes me," he began naively and transparently enough "you've often stressed the importance of human friendship but what I fail to comprehend is why your friendship with Admiral Powell is so important you'd risk alienating the crew and violating the prime directive for it." So heavy was Picard's heart that he, somehow, felt justification in treating Data's enquiry with contempt. He simply barked a further order in Data's direction and dismissed him. 

"Tell Geordie to search the fragments for any pieces of the Borg's database and bring them to me." 

Without further incident the Enterprise continued it's mission to the Romulan border where it collected an official from the Romulan government and delivered her to Deep Space Nine. Such was the Enterprise crew's loyalty to and admiration for their Captain that the atmosphere aboard the ship returned to normal and the Borg cube incident was all but forgotten. With the Enterprise docked at Deep Space Nine, Picard sat alone in his ready room and picked at his evening meal. Dr. Beverly Crusher entered the room unannounced. "I thought you'd be dining with the station's Captain, Jean Luc." 

"He and I are... not the closest of friends." Was Picard's, not unexpected, reply. Crusher had hoped for more than this conversational dead end, so she started again. 

"You owe me a walk on the promenade and a drink at that Ferengi's bar, Jean Luc, and I intend to collect." 

"Another night, Bev, please. I'll make it up to you, I promise," was as much familiarity as Picard could force from his preoccupied mind.

Co-incidentally as Crusher was leaving the room, Geordie entered it. Crusher muttered something that sounded like "perhaps _you_ can get some sense out of him" as she brushed past Geordie. Geordie sensed the need to avoid small talk and got straight to the point. He had in his hand what he had identified to be a remnant of the Borg's computer. It was about the size of a football and looked as alien as it was.

"Can you decode any information from it?" Was Picard's first and most vital question. "Not my speciality, Captain." Geordie replied. "I wouldn't know where to start. But I know someone who would, and he's aboard this station." 

Under the guise of the long range testing of new ship's systems Picard used his influence to get Chief Miles O'Brien seconded to the Enterprise, once more, for it's return journey to Earth. Picard had bought himself a few days and what he hoped would be the expertise necessary to determine what that Borg cube was carrying that made it important enough clandestinely to destroy.

Upon arrival at Earth Picard was none the wiser. No-one in the federation had ever decoded a Borg database before and it was not absolutely certain that the fragment in Picard's possession even contained any useful information.

Admiral Norman Powell's office was as important to him as his home. Lately he'd spent more time in it than at home, much to the chagrin of his family. It was large and filled with monuments to his life. Athletics trophies, photographs, books, certificates and diplomas. Arranged neatly and in almost perfect chronological order. One man's hall of fame. Had it not been his private and personal sanctuary it would have appeared a monument to a gigantic ego. Powell returned to his desk after a hearty and conscience free lunch and began, in earnest, his afternoon's 'paper work'. The male voice of Powell's personal secretary suddenly appeared on the com system. "Admiral, there's..." 

"Never mind that, we're old friends." Picard shouted over his shoulder as he and Data burst through the door into Powell's office. Powell beamed a genuinely warm smile. 

"It's good to see you, Jean Luc. And you must be Mr. Data." He crossed the room to an antique wooden cabinet, "I keep a little secret, a genuine twentieth century malt whiskey for occasions like this. I'd say it's rather good but, as you know, there's no such thing as a _bad_ malt whiskey." The moment Powell had feared arrived and Picard got straight to the point. 

"I want to know why I alienated my crew, violated the prime directive and destroyed seven thousand non-threatening life forms." Powell's reply grasped at straws. 

"They would have assimilated you, given half the chance..." 

"We didn't need to go anywhere near them." Picard countered. Powell hesitated for a moment, then turned his face toward the window. 

"We shouldn't even be discussing this, Jean Luc, none of this must get out. We can't be seen to be hunting them down, it violates the prime directive." Picard's reply was quick. "Then why _are_ we hunting them down?" Powell unsatisfactorily came back. 

"We're not, you are." 

Powell hesitated for what seemed an eternity then said, reluctantly, "all right, Jean Luc you deserve to know the truth. You know more about the Borg than, perhaps, anyone else in the federation but you've never known anything about their origin. I doubt it's ever even occurred to you to wonder. 

Data intervened, "Very little is known..." 

"Oh no," Powell interrupted "on the contrary everything is known. But by no more than a dozen people in the whole federation and, thanks to you, _none _of the Borg themselves. There's a terrible secret that's passed on in a sort of hereditary manner to whoever occupies this chair. It's the best kept secret of Earth's history. You see in the late twenty first century, after a horrendous history of internal conflicts, humans had made first contact with species from other planets. Suddenly the military threat, real or imagined, was like nothing anyone had ever known before. You have to remember that this is a paranoid people, coming out of centuries, millennia, of malevolence and mistrust. Even our world wars must have seemed like cricket matches compared to what now seemed possible. An altogether new weapon was indicated. One the cloak of which would give humanity the imagined security it so desperately sought. Regrettably one thing we have never managed to learn from history is that what seems a useful tool in the laboratory often proves an uncontrollable monster in the real world." 

Picard gathered his thoughts out loud. **"God help us, _we_ created the Borg."**

"I'm afraid so," confirmed Powell, "once the monster was unleashed the most that could be done was to banish it to a faraway place and time, it's a tribute to twenty first century ingenuity that they managed even that. Of all the knowledge the Borg have aquired over the centuries, this little gem has eluded them." The puzzle was almost complete. 

Picard demanded to know one more thing. "What about the cube we destroyed? Where does it fit in?" 

Powell continued his flow of information. "My predecessor, Admiral Robert Yates, served this office well and after a long and distinguished career began to pilot his own shuttle craft towards Betazed to enjoy his retirement. A journey of only about a week. En route he was unfortunate enough to be captured and assimilated by a certain rogue Borg vessel. With him went _all_ his knowledge. The USS Long Island was despatched to destroy the Borg vessel, but only managed to disable it. Hence your mission, Jean Luc. I'm sure you can imagine the danger to the federation if knowledge of the Borg's origins falls into Borg hands. The federation is grateful." Whether Powell was genuine in his lauding of Picard, Picard could not be sure anymore. Suddenly he no longer knew his old friend. The only thing that Picard was certain about was that _he _felt sickened. Picard, for once, had no idea what his next step would be. One thing of which he was certain is that he could not remain in the presence of Powell. As Picard and Data started to leave four armed guards in Starfleet uniform, seemingly coincidentally, entered the room. It was no coincidence. Knowing what they now knew, Powell had no intention of letting them leave freely.

Nothing needed to be said, everyone present knew the circumstance.Picard and Data's presence, under 'arrest' in a Starfleet safehouse, was an embarrassment at best, and a disaster at worst for Powell. How would he justify their circumstance when the inevitable time came to do so? Given that so few people knew the shocking truth, to what extent would Powell's 'official sanction' protect and vindicate him?

Days passed and Picard and Data had little to do but eat, sleep and talk. Their surroundings were comfortable, yet galling. How simple loyalty to a close friend and obedience of Starfleet orders could have resulted in this is something Picard endlessly analysed in his mind, to no avail. Data, for his part, had discovered a new found curiosity about Earth's history. The need to comprehend what he had heard in Powell's office was great. When Picard felt like discussing it he would attempt to enlighten Data. But it required more understanding of the history and culture of humanity than one can teach, even to a mind such as Data's. "It's tempting," Picard would explain, "to believe that humanity has evolved over the centuries in terms of intelligence, practicality and enlightenment. But just when we become proud of our achievements, just when we become joyous and confident, just when we become happy and complacent, just when we begin genuinely to value our choice to eschew paranoia and violence in favour of higher ideals we are reminded of where we came from and how little has actually changed." Picard would try but how does one even begin to justify, to a mind such as Data's, the reasons for humanity's mistakes? "All this happened," Picard would say, "less than half a century after the bloodiest conflict in man's history. A war in which hundreds of thousands of people lost their lives for no justifiable purpose. The result was a world that tried to contain, and rehabilitate, hundreds of millions of refugees. A world in which children innocently played in minefields and lost their limbs. A world no more full of violence and injustice than at any other time in history but, importantly, no less so. Record population density and previously unimagined new technology brought with them new ways to demonstrate humanity's innate evil".

"A species that had never particularly been at peace with itself was now expected to exact a full and final lesson from it's dire circumstance and become truly peaceful and harmonious, all over night, relatively speaking. All but the most naive and idealistic should have realised it wasn't possible... and yet. The one blatant and obvious lesson from this is how easily we are deceived if we want something enough. And then, first contact. The question of whether or not we are alone was answered. Humanity fundamentally hadn't changed, mastery of new technology didn't demonstrate that it had. Humankind had not learned to live with itself and was certainly not ready to live with others, the Vulcans should have realised that. No... the certainty of the existence of other species only brought with it a new found paranoia. 'If mankind was so malevolent, how could aliens be anything else?' Humankind has established for itself a history of utilising new technology (especially weaponry) before it has learned to control it, why should this era be any different?" Picard's diatribe was as much for the purpose of clarifying all this in his own mind as it was for enlightening Data, who proved the perfect listener anyway. 

The answer to the obvious question of Picard and Data's fate was no clearer to Powell than it was to Picard or Data. Powell had simply not considered the consequences when he unburdened himself to his old friend, such was his need to share his terrible and heavy load. 

Picard awoke on the third morning in his prison to the sight of his armed guards standing ready to escort him to Powell's office. With Picard standing in front of him Powell omitted greetings and came straight to the point. "Jean Luc, those Borg fragments have been seized from your ship (they wouldn't have told you anything, anyway) your engineer, O'Brien, has been reassigned and your android has been returned to the Enterprise, his memory of the last two weeks has been erased." Before Picard could begin to answer Powell continued. "The same can easily be done to you, Jean Luc, please convince me it's not necessary."

___________________________________________

  


Jean Luc Picard sat in a comfortable chair in Norman Powell's office, scarcely internalising what he had just heard. His old and trusted friend really was threatening to brainwash him in order to contain the terrible secret the two had freely shared only days before. "As well as you know me, Norman, nothing I say now will convince you." If Picard had thought about what he had just said he would have realised he was condemning himself, but by now his emotions were scripting his speech not his usually pragmatic and rational mind. With the heavy heart of someone who would do what had to be done but take no joy in the doing, Powell motioned to the armed guards to escort Picard away. Only he and they knew where.

Had it really come to this? Jean Luc Picard, Captain of the Federation's flagship escorted by armed Federation guards. Imprisoned. His only crime, obeying orders and helping a friend. A friend... had he been in a better frame of mind the irony of that thought would have amused Picard. Now he concentrated his mind on what was to be done. How could this injustice be resisted and opposed? Few people in existence knew of the reason for Picard's imprisonment, so how would 'they' justify any obvious and public display of force needed to hold him? This whole sorry mess was sanctioned and even known about by so few that it should be a simple matter to escape and no-one could provide a justification for holding him. They walked quickly and purposefully down the corridor of the building and out into the morning sunlight into as public a place as Picard would see for a while, unless he did something now. With a sudden movement, that surprised him almost as much as it did his guards, Picard bolted. He ran across the public quadrangle where he knew they would not take the risk of firing upon him and down an alleyway. Counting on the theory that his knowledge of Starfleet headquarters was better than the guards', he found a place to hide. They had taken his personal communicator but he knew where another could be found, he would contact the Enterprise to beam him aboard. Once safely aboard he refused to offer any explanation, simply ordering the crew to set a course for Deep Space Nine... warp six. He had only, by now, formulated the beginnings of a plan of what to do next. But he knew that before too long he would give himself up to Powell and submit to the mind altering, it was the only way to ensure his future in Starfleet. Before that, though, a way would have to be found to ensure that the gem in his memory was, one day, recovered.

The memory erasure procedure was not at all pleasant to undergo. Hardly anyone knew exactly _how_ unpleasant, if anyone remembered the procedure it would defeat it's own purpose. Few knew the technology even existed. By all estimations greater pain, greater physical and psychological torture, had never been inflicted upon anyone who'd lived. Powell considered this an evil, yes, but a necessary one.

  


_____________________________________________

  


2390. Molly O'Brien was twenty six years old, single and a lecturer in geology at one of the 'better' colleges at Oxford University. Her brother had followed in his father's substantial footsteps and joined Starfleet but she had almost rebelliously turned her back on her upbringing on what was her parents' home of choice, a distant but strategically important backwater of a space station called Deep Space Nine. She found it difficult even to understand her mother's and father's fascination with space, let alone share it. In what had become an automatic routine she travelled, daily, the short distance across town to the university, with a deep sense of duty as well as the enjoyment and fascination with her subject that she always told herself was a lucky bonus. She would complete her scholastic activities for the day and then retire to her modest house and impressive garden for the remainder of the day. A routine yes, a sense of duty yes, but Molly could not be more happy with her life. Men had found her captivating and longed to be part of that life, but she had always made it abundantly clear that if that was to be, it would be on _her_ terms or not at all. Regrettably the 'not at all' was so often the result, regrettably for the men, that is, Molly hardly cared. The technology of living in space, with all that that implied, the risk and intrigue of intergalactic diplomacy, the excitement and danger of modern militarism could and should be left to the people who enjoy that sort of thing, namely her parents whom she loved very much but, increasingly, had little in common with. She considered herself fortunate, indeed, to have realised her ambition of an academic life at such a young age. Especially at such a prestigious institution.

This Thursday evening was like any other, Molly thought only of immediate priorities and short term goals. She saw no reason to look past the delivering of tomorrow's lecture. She paced purposefully around her kitchen preparing, in earnest, her evening meal while talking over her shoulder to her father on the video phone. 

"It's terrific, Molly, there's an atmosphere of co-operation here like we've never seen. No-one's fighting, Klingons and Bajorans have actually found things they can talk about and even the Cardies seem genuinely grateful for everyone's aid in rebuilding their planet." "Sounds great, Dad." Molly replied, automatically, only having heard about a third of what Miles had said. 

"Oh, and your Mum says to tell you we've sent the time capsule, hope you enjoy it." Miles added, almost as an afterthought. Molly was suddenly focused. 

"The what?" 

"Do you mean to tell me you don't remember, Dear? When you were six it was all you could think about for many weeks." Molly thought hard but nothing sprung to mind. 

"What _are_ you talking about, Dad?" 

Genuinely surprised at having to remind her Miles continued. "When you were six years old, before the Dominion war, you came to your mother and me one day all excited with a story about how a nice man in a ship's Captain's uniform spoke to you in the library and asked you to help him to play an important game. He gave you a container with a time lock on it and said it would open automatically in twenty years and you were to keep it till then and then return it to him. Well we scanned it and since there was nothing dangerous inside your mother and I decided to indulge you and we put it in a safe place. That was twenty years ago tomorrow. Don't you remember how excited you were?"

________________________________________

  


  


Molly stared blankly at the plain black container made from light weight but impenetrable alloy with a sophisticated time release lock attached to it's hinged lid. It was counting down with only two hours remaining. Molly's abiding emotion amounted to little more than guilt that she was not passionately interested in solving this particular mystery. Her one priority was to get this thing out of her hands and forget she ever saw it. She placed it on the floor in the corner of her office and planned to return when it was time for the box to open itself. When it did she found a padd that she was unable to read, it was locked with a personal identification code. Accompanying it was a letter thanking her for all her help and asking her to track down a Captain Jean Luc Picard (probably in retirement) and return the padd to him. With a sense of duty only toward herself Molly contacted Picard at his vineyard in the French countryside and requested that he meet her in the Oxford town square. She only briefly explained why and Picard's natural curiosity turned to excitement as he agreed to meet her at a prearranged time.

Picard adjusted his clothing, "I'd forgotten just how cold this country is, even in July." Was his feeble attempt at conversation. Molly didn't feel like pleasantries, either, and came straight to the point. 

"I understand you know my father extremely well." 

"He's a good man," Picard almost interrupted. Molly remembered her rage and her determination that her indignation would be satisfied. 

"Look at my life, I don't care who you are, or were, I've chosen _not_ to play your Starfleet games and I refuse to be used in this way." Picard still didn't understand the circumstance but he was aware that some sensitivity and explanation was required. 

"Look, I don't remember anything of what you say I did, but I'm sure there must've been a very good reason for it. I wouldn't use a six year old child unless I absolutely had no choice." Not really accepting his explanation but knowing that nothing more satisfactory would be forthcoming, she handed him the padd. 

"I'm sure this'll tell us everything." Picard said confidently as he entered his personal code. Molly simply walked away. Picard called after her. "Aren't you curious?" 

"Yes," she replied over her shoulder, "curious to know what I have to do to be left alone." 

Picard found himself staring at several pages of his own personal log entries. He would find somewhere quiet to read and absorb it all.

  


Norman Powell had served his federation well and towards the end of 2387 his retirement celebration was well attended and one to remember, among those present had been Admiral Jean Luc Picard. In a heartfelt and enthusiastic speech he had praised his old friend for a hard working and faultless life of service to starfleet, related some trivial and mildly amusing anecdotes of their experiences and thanked Powell for a close and unique friendship. Georgia's east coast was to be the location of Powell's retirement, where he would live the remainder of his life devoted to the pursuit of the outdoor activities he enjoyed so much. The side of one particular lake held a special attraction and it was there that he made his home. "There's something about fishing," he would explain to anyone who would listen, "oh, it's not the sport or the fish its... the life of quiet contemplation. Yes, the satisfaction that the memories of a blameless and achievement filled life bring with them." 

The most evil of men have always found self deception a necessary tool for the happy continuance of their existence.

By the year 2390 transporter technology had existed for almost two centuries and people had been conditioned to regard being transported, even great distances, as a routine and trivial matter. The only surprise would come when one was transported without one's knowledge or permission, this rarely happened. On this summer afternoon Norman Powell found himself instantly stolen from enjoying the fresh air and sun beside the lake, that he had almost begun to regard as his sole property, to the uncomfortable, semi-dark and noisome surroundings of a ship's cargo bay. With the confusion that one experiences upon being suddenly and violently awakened he began to orient himself when he felt the sudden and agonising thump to his chest of a phaser set to stun. He awoke what must have been many hours later sitting on the hard floor of the brig of that same ship, propped up against the wall, the visible signs of a force field forming the 'bars' of the cell metres in front of him. Further in front of that, seated in a comfortable leather chair with a rather good malt whiskey in his hand, was Admiral Jean Luc Picard (Retired).

"I know we've played some practical jokes on each other over the years, Jean Luc, but this isn't funny it's damn annoying." Powell began in desperation. 

Conscious that if Powell was not aware by now that Picard's memory had returned he soon would be, Picard saw no reason for explanations. "You're no different from the Borg, are you? They absorb information without regard for life, you show the same lack of regard for life when you block information. The Borg do what they do in pursuit of perfection, you to protect yourself." 

"It's not that simple, Jean Luc, you know that." Picard knew he would not change Powell's mind about anything, his goal was no more than personal gratification. 

"I remember that at the time you seemed to be concerned about the danger of the Borg discovering the truth. I realise now that that would have made no difference at all, it's the Federation public knowing the truth that frightens you." Powell's line of sight dropped to the floor. 

"Why does that surprise you? Can you imagine the danger? You may not like my methods but you must agree, the knowledge must never get out. For two hundred years, no-one's disputed that." Picard was no longer the intelligent, gentle and pragmatic service-man that Powell had grown to know and love. Was it a lifetime in Starfleet or retirement from same that had changed him? What he saw before him was an altogether different creature, bent on his own version of justice. 

"Oh, it's not about the knowledge any more (if it ever was) it's your methods. How many thousands of peoples have died simply to protect the truth while you enjoy the lap of luxury? I'm _going to _kill you." Now Powell was genuinely amazed, he'd never considered this. But he knew Picard was as serious about it as he'd been about anything.

The ship (the USS Jim Brooke) was Captain Geordie LaForge's first command and one in which he enjoyed an enormous sense of pride. In spite of this he had reluctantly allowed his good friend and former commanding officer to 'borrow' the ship and a skeleton crew, without pressing for an explanation. Such was Picard's personal standing amongst his devoted friends. The result, in part, of a lifetime of unfailing service. Goerdie sat alone in the room of his home that he had converted into a comfortable office for the purpose of pursuing his hobby, the writing of novels. It bothered him not a bit that, upon reading his efforts, those around him suddenly did not share his passion quite to the extent he did. Today, fiction was not his priority. Today, something nagged him. A curiosity about Picard's motives. With a gnawing, but not quite overpowering, guilty conscience he flipped through the pages of the electronic appointment diary that Picard had accidentally (perhaps purposefully) left behind when he visited Geordie only days before. Something spurred Geordie's memory of the last time he had seen Picard behave entirely out of character with no forthcoming explanation and his logical and enquiring mind searched for a connection between that time and this. 

Having been only too pleased to put Jean Luc Picard out of her mind and return to the routine of her life Molly O'Brien sat in her office at the university marking her students' efforts with a genuine attitude of concern for their success, diluted with a certain despair at the obvious lack of ability of a few of them. Her concentration was interrupted by a 'knock' on the door which she opened to find Geordie LaForge standing in front of her in full Starfleet Captain's uniform. 

"Oh God, not another one." She could not have hidden her annoyance even if she'd wanted to.

After using all the charm at his disposal to persuade Molly to answer his questions about her encounter with Picard, Geordie now knew everything she did about it. Which was, unfortunately, not much. He transported to the modest but tasteful house at the corner of Picard's vineyard that Picard called home. As an acknowledged close friend of Picard's no-one questioned his right to be there. The lock on the office door was so simple for a trained engineer to circumvent that it was laughable. Almost too conveniently on a desk in the centre of the room he found the padd that had languished in the time capsule. Did Picard _want_ his actions to be uncovered? That scarcely mattered. What did matter was that Geordie's old friend needed help, whether he realised it or not. He sat down to read the padd.

________________________________________________

  


Powell knelt in the centre of the room, staring at the wall, his face wore the expression of a man condemned. Picard stood over him, a phaser pressed to Powell's temple. A figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, it was Geordie. 

"Don't do it, Jean Luc, if you do you're no better than he is." Picard registered no surprise. With a sense of inevitability he dropped the hand, that held the phaser, to his side. 

"I _am _better than he is, Geordie, I had no intention... I just wanted him to understand what he's done." Geordie accepted Picard's explanation but was at a loss as to how next to proceed. 

"What do we do with him?" He asked of Picard. Picard had obviously thought it through. "We let him return to Earth. He'll never talk about any of this." He turned to Powell. 

"You remember how to fly a shuttle craft, don't you?" he asked sarcastically. Powell said nothing and accompanied Geordie's armed crew member to the shuttle bay. Picard and Geordie walked side by side to the bridge. Geordie longed to ask Picard for more elucidation about the circumstances but sensed that it was not appropriate, he'd pieced together most of it from the padd anyway. As they walked through the door to the bridge they saw, on the view screen, Powells shuttle flying away from the ship. 

"Did I mention," Picard began "that sensors picked up a Borg cube some one hundred thousand kilometres from our location? Oh, it's not a threat, if we go to warp now we can easily outrun it. But a shuttle craft can't... wouldn't stand a chance."

  


____________________________________________

  
  



End file.
